


Just Work Friends...

by Alexz_writez



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Aziraphale is a gardener, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a nanny, F/M, Female Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:34:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23031010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexz_writez/pseuds/Alexz_writez
Summary: Human AU where Crowley is actually a nanny and Aziraphale is actually a gardener, not a good one though, and  they work for the Dowlings.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	Just Work Friends...

Crowley had only been working for the Dowlings for a couple of days when they hired a new gardener. She had been hired as a nanny to take care of their son, since rich and important diplomats rarely have the time or patience to take care of their own offspring; which was rather beneficial for anybody looking for a job. Crowley hadn't met the new gardener yet, the only thing she knew about him was that people called him Mr. Fell, or at least the Dowlings did. Crowley had decided to meet this Mr. Fell whenever she had the chance, and maybe even get to judge his gardening skills from up close—she wasn't exactly keen on bragging, yet she was perfectly aware of the fact that she had one of the best gardens in the city, even if not for public display, and wouldn't pass on an opportunity to tell people about it.

The Dowlings' son, Warlock, was very small and energetic. He loved going outside to explore and play, and Crowley was always one to let children get into a bit of trouble. So, while little Warlock played outside, she sat on a chair on the porch idly watching over him. A few yards away was Mr. Fell.

Her gaze fell on him. A few moments later she realized she was still looking at him. Thankful for her sunglasses, she turned her gaze to the blue sky. What would he have thought if he had caught her staring at him? Not that she cared, of course. Why would she?

She walked over to the edge and leaned on the railing. The sun hit her face with kind warmth and her red hair lit up like fire. From the corner of her eye she caught Warlock walking up to the gardener. She found herself staring again as the little boy talked to him and the man replied with delight. He seemed like a nice chap, his hair was very blonde, almost like snow, and he wore a small yet bright smile on his face. Crowley watched as the man handed Warlock a rose and the boy ran back towards the house quickly. 

When Warlock got to where Crowley was standing, he held his hand out, giving her the flower. He pointed at the man, "He said to give you this, Miss Crowley. Beautiful lady deserves beautiful flower."

Crowley took the red rose in his hands; it wasn't one of the finest he had seen, yet there was something lovely about it. She turned to look at Mr. Fell, who was looking at her as if awaiting her reaction. She instructed Warlock to go inside and wash up for lunch, and when the boy ran inside she looked back at the man. He waved from the distance, and Crowley smiled a tiny smile and then curtsied. Of course, she regretted the gesture as soon as she turned to enter the house. Why had she even done that? She must have looked like a complete idiot. It was meant to look like a mock formality, but she was pretty sure it had looked more like a serious formal gesture than a somewhat playful one.

She prepared some sandwiches for Warlock to eat and then placed the rose in a vase with water and left it in the center of the kitchen table. When Warlock was done eating he basically begged her to let him play outside a while longer, and she thought,  _ well why not?, _ it’s any kids right to play and have fun.

They headed outside once again, and this time Mr. Fell was tending to the plants scattered around in pots on the portico. Little Warlock ran off to do whatever it is little boys entertain themselves with, and Crowley was left standing just a few feet away from the gardener.

“Good Afternoon, Miss…”

“Crowley,” she said, taking the hand he had offered and shaking it. “I take it you are Mr. Fell.”

“Yes, that would be correct.”

“If you wouldn’t mind me saying so, I'm pretty sure you have overwatered those oleanders.” She nudged her head to the side, gesturing at a big flower pot where tall green stalks covered with light-pink colored flowers now seemed to be swimming in water.

Mr. Fell laughed. “Yes, I think I have, rather. I'm not very good with plants as you might see. I’ve read plenty about them, I had never actually had to take care of any. I may have underestimated the difficulty of the job.” 

Crowley was now a bit intrigued.

“If you don't mind me asking, why would a man who has no botanical expertise, as one might put it, find himself being the gardener of an American diplomat?” she said.

He laughed kindly. “I needed another job," he said. "I own a bookshop but, between you and me, I’m not particularly fond of selling my books. I sometimes wonder if it might have been a better idea to open a library instead, but then again, that only makes it easier for the books to get damaged. Anyways, I’m sure you don't care about any of this. The point was, I don’t sell many books so I needed another source of income, and this seemed like quite a simple thing to do.”

Crowley laughed at this but there was no scorn behind it. There was something delightful about Mr. Fell, she had to admit she found him quite sweet, though she’d never say that out loud.

“Well, you might be glad to know I may be able to help you,” Crowley said.

Mr. Fell raised his eyebrows. “Oh, is that so? And how, may I ask?”

“Well, you’re not the only one with hobbies Mr. Fell. You see, I like to think I have a green thumb, and people do tell me this often as well. I have a well kept garden of my own back at my apartment. Don’t go there often now, being a nanny and all, but I check in on it every couple of days. Point is, you might benefit from my skills.”

“I see,” said Mr. Fell. He smiled. “Thank you, Miss Crowley, yet I couldn’t possibly ask for you to waste any of your time with my problems.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, really. Tell you what, let’s make a deal; I help you with the plants, you benefit from my great and expansive knowledge and I benefit from the company of someone who can actually tie his own shoes,” she said wryly. They both looked at Warlock who was sitting on the grass, plucking leaves out of the ground. His left shoelaces, which Crowley had tied only a few minutes ago, were now laid out on the dirt.

“I could help you out while I keep an eye on young Warlock over there,” Crowley suggested.

“Well, if you insist,” said Mr. Fell, “then we’ve got ourselves an arrangement, Miss Crowley.”

“Just Crowley is fine, Mr. Fell.”

“Well in that case, call me Zira,” he said. 

“I should get going, but it was very nice talking to you, Crowley.”

“Same here, Zira.”

“See you soon then.”

“Sure.”

Mr. Fell gathered his things and left. Crowley let Warlock play for another few minutes before telling him to go inside and then getting him ready for bed, but not without giving him a proper bath first. 

The Dowling’s arrived late at night, they had some business to attend to and had been out most of the day, as usual. Given that it was Friday, it was time for Crowley to go back to her apartment. She stayed with the family on weekdays and on most weekends she went back to her place, except for the days when the Dowling’s asked her to take care of Warlock over the weekend if they had some other compromise.

Crowley headed outside and drove to her apartment in her vintage Bentley. She had enjoyed talking to Mr. Fell—Zira— a lot, yet she worried that she had been too forward in offering to help with the whole gardening business. 

She decided to forget the whole issue, but she found herself unable to do so; not even after blasting Queen at full volume in the Bentley. She was an overthinker. She worried about what he might think of her; she normally did worry about what people thought about her but she didn't show it, but with him she worried even more than usual. She couldn't stop thinking about what might happen the next time they met, and, even worse, she couldn't stop thinking about him in general. He was very kind and sweet, and so perfectly beautiful...but she had just met him, what was wrong with her? 

Well, this was going to be one long weekend.


End file.
